A Beginner's Guide to Becoming a Chiltonite
by columbiachica
Summary: When Dean comes to Chilton, Rory and Tristan are forced to define their relationship. R/T
1. Welcome Wagon

Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters and never will, but I'm borrowing them. (I may never give them back *evil cackle*).  
  
Pairing: R/T  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author's Note: This is totally experimental, and please treat it as such. There are three POV's, starting with Dean, then Rory and finally Tristan. And I know this probably would never happen, but what can I say? I have a vivid imagination. Also, in my altered universe, the finale never happened: no make-ups, no marriage proposals, no P.J. Harvey invites, etc.  
  
Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. He parked in the pre-determined spot and jumped out of his truck, straightening his tie nervously. He hated ties, but he would have to grow accustomed to wearing one everyday now. Ever since the acceptance letter came through, he had dreaded this moment, when he would have to walk into the enormous building and meet these conceited rich kids.  
  
Dean jogged up to a fountain, running slightly late, and consulted his notes. Ambrose Building, they said, although he couldn't find evidence of any signs differentiating buildings from one another. He turned in confused circles, and heard the bell ring, signifying, he guessed, class getting out. Indeed, in a matter of moments, he found himself surrounded by plaid skirts and blazers.  
  
He felt a tap on the shoulder and was soon looking into two very startled blue eyes, belonging to, of course, Rory. One of the reasons he didn't want to go here; his parents forced him to.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, surveying his uniform.  
  
"Getting ready for the circus," he replied sarcastically. Instantly, he wished he hadn't said it, seeing the taken aback expression on Rory's face. However, in typical Rory fashion, she didn't give up.  
  
"What are you looking for?"  
  
"Ambrose Building."  
  
"Okay, it's the big, scary one right there," Rory said pointing, and instructed him how to get to the office.  
  
"Thanks," Dean said, uncomfortably.  
  
"Good luck," Rory offered, with a sympathetic face. She half-jogged to her class, book bag weighing her down, skirt swishing with her movements.  
  
Dean could hardly look Rory in the eye anymore, after the humiliation at the junkyard. Still, he knew she was a wonderful girl, and definitely an ally at Chilton, which she had told him about in detail. Grimacing at the impending meeting, Dean swiveled to face the building and followed Rory's simple directions.  
  
He entered the white door with little hesitation, knowing it would be better if he just got it over with. The Headmaster's secretary let him in, stoically holding the door and looking down her nose at his feet.  
  
The Headmaster was exactly as Rory had colorfully described him: a little paunchy, with a thinning head of white hair and a well-groomed goatee. He was deathly serious, and spoke with much the same calm infliction for every phrase. He told Dean about the standards that Chilton held, the rigid rules, and the honor code, all of which Dean had known before coming.  
  
Dean gave his information to a comically unemotional secretary and tried to find his locker. When he did, it was already the next class period, and people were bumping into him to get to lockers and friends. He stopped dead in his tracks when he smashed into a particular person: Tristan.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Tristan demanded snidely.  
  
"I go here." Dean started to move past him, but Tristan blocked his path.  
  
"I thought they didn't let people with IQs ten percent of their age in."  
  
"They probably don't," Dean agreed, trying again to sidestep him.  
  
"How did you get in?"  
  
"I beat up the administration." It was obvious Tristan was not going to let him by. "Look--" he started, but was cut off by the sound of a familiarly sweet voice.  
  
"Class starts in four minutes," Rory said, inserting herself in between the two. "Have you found your locker?" she asked, turning to Dean.  
  
"I was trying to," Dean said spitefully.  
  
"Hey, just trying to get to know my classmate," Tristan retorted sardonically.  
  
"Well, we can call the Welcome Wagon later," Rory told him, "but we should all get to class. Come on, Dean, I'll help you find your locker." Rory took Dean forcefully by the forearm and looked at his schedule. "326. That should be right next to mine." Rory continued a few feet down the hall. "Here you go," she said.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Anytime." There was an uncomfortable silence. "I have to get to class."  
  
"Right. Bye."  
  
"Yeah, bye." Rory spun to face the other way and disappeared through a door.  
  
Dean looked at his schedule, wishing he had asked Rory where History with Ms. Atergaph was. He stopped a random student, although she seemed vaguely familiar. "Do you know where History with Ms. Atergaph is?" he asked the girl, who was studying him with a rather dour expression.  
  
She pointed to the door Rory had disappeared through. "Aren't you Dean?" she inquired.  
  
"Uh, yeah." How did she know his name?  
  
"I remember you from the dance. I'm Paris," she added as an afterthought.  
  
"Ah, " Dean said, recalling the many complaints about her from Rory. "Well, thanks."  
  
"No problem," she said, walking away.  
  
Dean walked through the door, not knowing exactly what to expect.  
  
*  
  
Rory glanced up when the door opened just before the bell. Of course, Dean would have this class with her. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw him out in the courtyard this morning, wearing the uniform, looking confused. Why was he going here? She didn't think he had a big interest in school. He was smart, yeah, but Rory hadn't realized he was really a studious person.  
  
Well, he was here now, and she was in for an awkward year, what with her and Tristan friends, and now Dean here to witness it all.  
  
When the bell rang, she immediately directed her thoughts to the subject at hand, banishing thoughts of Dean and Tristan until she could think, uninterrupted. Ms. Atergaph was known to talk constantly, and most people agreed that about a third of her babble was relevant to the class. Still, she was easily the most interesting teacher at Chilton, with an actual personality shining through.  
  
She could feel Tristan's eyes on her from the back of the room. Rory knew how his eyes felt; she could tell when he was looking at her from a mile away. Choosing to stay focused, Rory didn't glance back and continued taking notes, fully fixated on the topic of Henry VIII's colorful life.  
  
When, after fifty minutes of incessant noise from Ms. Atergaph, the bell rang, Rory slowly gathered up her books and stuffed them in her bag, standing unhurriedly, although all she wanted to do was run away. She decided to dump her history book in her locker before continuing on, relieving her of the extra weight.  
  
Dean was also at his locker, throwing some of the papers from administration in and gluing pictures up.  
  
"So, this is Chilton," he said.  
  
"Yep, this is the fabulous hellhole," Rory replied, carefully adding her book to the perfectly engineered stack. She told Dean where his next two classes were before lunch, and kept going.  
  
"So, are you and Dean back together?" Tristan began, hardly five seconds after her leaving Dean.  
  
"No," she answered simply.  
  
"Then why did you defend him?"  
  
"Because you had no right to provoke him, and believe me, I know how being provoked by you on the first day feels."  
  
"Did you know he was coming?"  
  
"No." Once again, Rory sufficed to use the monosyllabic reply.  
  
Tristan kept pace with her and used her path to their next class, though it wasn't the one he usually took. This Rory knew, and wondered why he followed her with a pensive expression. They entered the class without another word spoken, sat in their respective seats and didn't exchange the usual surreptitious glances.  
  
*  
  
Tristan was dumbstruck when he saw Dean in the hall, wearing the obligatory Chilton blazer and tie, apparently looking for something. Not knowing what to do, Tristan went up to him, knowing there was no way Dean could top him here, where this school worshipped him.  
  
Think again. Rory walked up and helped him out, as was her caring nature, and Tristan was caught between jealousy that she helped him and admiration for her compassionate character. In any event, he was envious of Rory's offer of help and the fact that Dean followed her--but mostly the fact that they were polite, almost amicable toward one another.  
  
When he talked to Rory between History and Trig, he was at a loss. All he could think was that he had this great friendship going with her, and now Dean was going to come through and ruin it for him, because Rory would be able to compare them on a regular basis, and Tristan knew he wasn't as good as Dean. Deep down, he knew Rory loved Dean and would choose Dean over him in a heartbeat, which depressed him.  
  
His friends could tell he was down about something, but they weren't empathetic enough to relate, or even ask what was wrong. As was the case most times: he and his friends were carousing kind of guys, never really loving anything, never hurt by anything, and always admired because of looks and money and status.  
  
Tristan's mind was clouded with these melancholy thoughts all through class and he couldn't find the strength to pick up a pencil and take notes. The threat of losing the one thing he actually, legitimately cared about was too much. He stared at her throughout their mutual periods, and he knew she could feel it, but she didn't turn. Why?  
  
He and Rory had been getting along for several months now, meeting during the summer in the club by accident, chatting a little, even laughing and finding they had a few things in common. Almost all of his favorite memories were linked to Rory, like when he made her laugh so hard, she spewed soda. Or when he saw her cutting the grass up, golfing with her grandfather, both of them amused. Or she and her mother giggling about the waiter in the club restaurant, wearing identical smiles, their twin blue eyes lighting up.  
  
And Dean was going to jeopardize this. Because Rory was too smart to get involved with someone else who she didn't think would respect her as much.  
  
"Hey, Rory!" he called to her after class. Here, they split ways, but he needed to hear her voice. Unfortunately, he hadn't formulated something to say and was at a loss for words when her perfect face turned to his.  
  
"Yeah?" she prompted.  
  
"Do you...want to go somewhere for lunch?" he proposed, invoking the junior- senior privilege: off-campus lunches.  
  
"Uh..." Rory looked around a little, stalling for time. "Sure."  
  
Her answer surprised him, to say the least, but he grinned his confident grin and said, "Meet you by my car," as he turned away.  
  
*  
  
Dean now understood why Rory complained about homework in this place. The overviews of notes he had were mind-boggling. He could hardly ponder beginning these projects and essays.  
  
When he left English, he saw Rory and Tristan talking in the hall, and Tristan was obviously pleased with the result. On the other hand, Rory didn't look so pained either. When did this happen?  
  
Dean went into the classroom they had just come out of, considering that question. Were they friends? Dating? The latter was unlikely, judging by the earlier confrontation amongst the three of them, but he was ready to assume the worst.  
  
To tell the truth, Dean missed Rory, and regretted his reaction to her hesitation in the junkyard. He should have realized how difficult it would be for Rory, who was rather delicate when it came to dating, and her wished he hadn't stormed off like that.  
  
When he saw her at Lane's, her sad countenance had caused him days and nights of thinking, and he remembered every detail of her upset and slightly tired eyes. Ever since, he had been trying to conjure a plan to get them back together, though he could think of none that suited him. His only option was just to talk to her, he knew, but it would be hard, swallowing his extraordinary amount of pride.  
  
Dean attempted to concentrate, but he was overloaded: Rory, Tristan the Headmaster, this school, these teachers, and all these complicated notes and lectures.  
  
He expected to find refuge in lunch, but another problem arose: where to sit? He could find no empty spots next to friendly looking people. He scanned the gigantic room once more and found no evidence of Rory--or Tristan. This confirmed his suspicions: they were either good friends, or worse, dating.  
  
Dean finally just sat at a table of affronted guys and looked at the meat on his tray. When the lunch lady had scooped the hamburger for the taco, it didn't collapse like normal hamburger: it stayed in a perfect scooped shape and it took several stabs to free it from the mold. When some rice slipped off his spoon, he noticed the fact the it bounced on his tray, probably not a good trait for a grain of rice.  
  
*  
  
Rory met Tristan at his black Porsche, which was in the first row of student parking, affirming his status: popular. All of the popular group had parents rich and influential enough to wrangle front-row parking spots for their kids.  
  
That was something Rory never could figure out. Why would Tristan, the most sought-after guy in school--by both sexes--want to be friends with her, a rather outcast brainiac? For some reason, he sort of latched onto her, not caring that she wasn't rich or glamorous. Why?  
  
"Hey," he greeted her cheerfully, the pensive look from earlier gone from his face. He stood up from his leaning position against the car. She climbed in on her side and he started the ignition. "Where to?"  
  
"Somewhere that serves coffee?"  
  
"What about food?"  
  
"Secondary," she answered, grinning.  
  
"Fine, we'll go to the Honda service station," Tristan joked.  
  
"Only if their coffee's good. Otherwise, we'll have to try Toyota."  
  
"I hear the BMW one had gourmet coffee."  
  
"Even better." Now they were both laughing at the thought of going to a service station for lunch.  
  
"So..." Tristan trailed off, not knowing where to go with this.  
  
"Anything to enrich that intelligent comment?" Rory teased.  
  
"I'll get back to you."  
  
"That paper in History sounds killer," Rory initiated. Homework was always a safe topic for her, being as she knew most everything about it.  
  
"Yeah, Atergaph can be tough when she wants to." Tristan looked at her briefly, then leaned over her and rummaged through the glove compartment.  
  
"Look at the road, please," Rory pleaded.  
  
"Okay, Grandma," he retorted, but ceased digging and turned his attention to the road. Rory noticed this fact with a small amount of triumph: she did have some power over him, no matter how minor.  
  
"Any thoughts on eateries?" Rory asked.  
  
"How's...Celia's?" he suggested.  
  
"Expensive," Rory pointed out, without thinking.  
  
"I'll pay."  
  
"You don't have to do that!" Rory didn't want him taking her out; it felt like a date. And she was firm in her conviction not to date Tristan. Because she didn't like him that way. Right? Of course.  
  
"I asked you first."  
  
"Entailing?"  
  
"That I can pay." Tristan turned smoothly into the parking lot. "Now, we only have forty minutes left." He resolutely shut off the car and got out, Rory following him.  
  
"So, this means that if I ask you first next time, I can pay?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What? There's a double standard," Rory pointed out.  
  
"I'm the guy."  
  
"That's your default excuse?"  
  
"Yeah, that's it. Pretty hard to contradict it, though."  
  
"And I'm not going to follow you on this one," Rory said, attempting to end the discussion, but to no avail.  
  
"I mean, hey, if you wanna look, I have no problems with that," Tristan continued slyly.  
  
"I should have known," Rory lamented.  
  
"I was hoping--" Tristan cut himself off there, piquing Rory's curiosity. She knew that about twenty percent of what came from Tristan's mouth was nonsense, and this seemed to be heading that way, but when he stopped, she knew he was turning serious about something. But what?  
  
"Two," he told the hostess, who pointed them to a table.  
  
Rory knew better than to pursue the topic. "So, this whole Dean showing up think is weird."  
  
"I can't believe you didn't know." There was a slight pause. "Not that it's your fault, it's just your town is so small," Tristan added hastily.  
  
"I know," Rory assured him. "I'm surprised it wasn't all around town within half an hour of him getting the acceptance letter."  
  
*  
  
Tristan saw Rory coming from the doors, marveling at her electric blue eyes and alert face. He wanted to appear nonchalant, but the fact was, it was difficult for him to contain himself around her. He chided himself: he had been around plenty of girls--and closer than that--but still, it was difficult for him not to spill his soul, or kiss her, or touch her. But their friendship was the best thing he had going, and he was determined not to screw it up.  
  
He liked making her laugh. His favorite part was right before she smiled, when her eyes lit up and her lips went soft in preparation to curve. He adored her coffee addiction, admired her intellect, loved her concentration when she read, her brow wrinkling slightly, face totally buried.  
  
And he was dreading all of this being taken away by Dean. What would he do? Now that he had experienced a life with some purpose, met someone who made him tingle, there was no returning to the superficial existence he had led before.  
  
He was making jokes about her checking him out, and, to his horror, nearly slipped and told her something he didn't want to. Tristan saw the look on her face, one of interest in what he was going to say, but she moved on, and he was grateful.  
  
They chattered through coffee and good salad, ten times better than the mushy, slightly pungent school stuff. He liked it that she offered to pay for her share, but the truth was, there was nothing he'd rather do than buy Rory lunch. Well, there were some things, but lunch was good for now.  
  
"Thanks," she said when they were enroute to the car.  
  
"No problem," he replied, one of his most frequent answers to remarks.  
  
Rory laughed a little. "You know, I hear there are other words in the English language that serve the same purpose.  
  
"They don't have the same ring."  
  
"Ha!" They got in their respective sides, and Rory resumed making her point. "Although, I don't think people would think of you as highly as when you use that response. They might not recognize you and assume that the real you was abducted or something."  
  
"Proving that the phrase is essential to my livelihood."  
  
"I think I just messed up. I was trying to stop you from using that phrase."  
  
"And an admirable job you did, too. Have you taken debate?"  
  
"Funny, funny boy."  
  
"Thanks. I find it easy, especially around you."  
  
Rory rolled her eyes. Tristan thought it was cute how she never took him seriously when he complimented her personality or looks, when he was being truthful. "Trying to butter me up?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Tristan turned to her at the stoplight. "I think you're the most beautiful person in the history of the world," he gushed, "and I just don't know what I'd do without you. I mean, you give my life significance--"  
  
"Okay, stop now please."  
  
Tristan grinned. "All right."  
  
"Thank you," she said, relieved.  
  
"No problem."  
  
*  
  
Dean was wandering through the school, fruitlessly trying to find his classroom. In defeat, he slumped on a bench around the corner from the front door, letting his head bump against the wall. After he had been sitting there for a few seconds, he heard the doors swoosh open and in came, lo and behold, Rory and Tristan, laughing about something. The only think he could hear was Tristan's comment.  
  
"...so expensive. Next time, it's the service station, missy."  
  
What?!  
  
Dean stood up, but accidentally turned the opposite corner and practically hit the two. "Sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"Dean!" Rory called. He turned, waiting rather impatiently. He looked briefly at Tristan, who seemed threatened by him. "Do you need any help finding anything?"  
  
In truth, of course he did, but he would never admit that to her in front of Tristan. "I'm fine," he said coldly and kept walking. He only had five minutes to find the classroom in this confusing jumble of buildings. As he continued the search, he ran into Paris, who he stopped and asked. Dean was disgruntled when he found he had walked past it--twice.  
  
He dashed in moments before the bell and found Rory and Tristan in there. Of course.  
  
Dean introduced himself to the teacher, who looked at him condescendingly and directed him to a seat--behind Rory and Tristan, who were seated next to each other. Rory turned to smile encouragingly, but he glowered back, making her mouth turn down in frustration. She shifted her attention to Tristan, who was pointing to something out the window. Rory nodded fervently at the comment and returned to her notes, prepping herself as usual before class.  
  
Dean kept looking between the two. He observed how Tristan was always gazing at her with a mix of awe and admiration. Dean knew it: he had a thing for her. And was easy to see why: Rory was smart and funny and beautiful, which meant that Tristan was perhaps not as insensitive as Dean had written him off to be.  
  
This day had been one of the slowest, albeit one of the most interesting of Dean's school career. The people here were amazing in their own right: they were so materialistic, Dean was constantly struck by their trite conversations, and truly applauded Rory for being a non-conformist.  
  
The teacher had an irritatingly nasal voice, but Dean took notes, knowing it would do him no good not to try and succeed. Besides his parents' wrath, he knew colleges would frown upon bad prep school grades, and Dean did want to get into a good college.  
  
Blocking out the glances from Tristan to Rory, he focused on his notebook and pen, and tried to survive the flat inflection of the annoying voice.  
  
*  
  
Rory was baffled by the look on Dean's face when she had come in with Tristan. First, they were only friends, and secondly, Dean no longer had any claim on her. In fact, it made her a little angry that Dean felt the need to govern whom she made friends with.  
  
Dean didn't have the right to know the state of her affairs with Tristan, and the state was that she was good friends with him--he being her only friend and all. Rory was still perplexed as to why he was here, of all places. She had been avoiding him for months, and now, she would have to see him, and possibly converse with him on a daily basis. Who up there hated her that much?  
  
Rory began to wonder if Lane had known about this. She went to Stars Hollow, she had to have seen him packing his stuff. Lane never mentioned Dean, fearing it would hurt Rory--but Rory would have like to have known about this, instead of finding out the way she did, a freak encounter in the courtyard.  
  
"Miss Gilmore?" the teacher asked, and Rory realized that the whole class was staring at her.  
  
"Yes?" she replied, not able to think of another answer.  
  
"The answer to number seven in the chapter review was…"  
  
"Um." Rory dug her homework out of the side of her book, and said, "Lincoln?"  
  
"Yes. Expand, please." The teacher was beginning to look impatient.  
  
"The country was so divided in their opinion of him that it was one of the foremost causes of the Civil War."  
  
"Very good. Hopefully, I won't have to coax the answer out again." She made a mark in her book and continued the lecture. Rory listened intently, took notes on everything and tried to endure Paris' demeaning glances.  
  
*  
  
What's wrong with her? Tristan sat in his seat and studied Rory's face. She was obviously deep in thought about something. Her homework hadn't come out yet, her book lay open to a random page and her pencil rested in the gutter.  
  
Tristan noticed the way her eyes clouded a little as she thought about whatever it was she was thinking about, and the was her mouth moved downward some, signifying that she was contemplating something bothersome.  
  
He felt Dean's eyes on him about half the time; the remainder of the time, he knew they were focused on Rory. Tristan resisted the urge to turn around and tell him to go back to Stars Hollow, but he could do that later when his grades weren't on the line.  
  
Tristan was surprised when Rory failed to answer the question when the teacher asked it once, but astonished that the teacher had to resort to calling her name and writing in the book. What had gotten into her?  
  
When class was over, Tristan was glad there were only two periods left in the day, but disappointed that he only had one of them with Rory. She seemed shaken by her own neglect to reply immediately to the question, but she was definitely distracted.  
  
After class, Tristan was about to turn to his locker when he heard Paris' cutting voice.  
  
"You know, I hear they make hearing aids for that kind of problem," she said coldly.  
  
"Really? I hear they make duct tape to shut annoying people up," Rory shot back, and kept walking.  
  
Paris followed. "Clever, Dorothy Parker."  
  
Tristan watched them. Rory looked miserable and a little intimidated, but resolute. Tristan knew it was partially--okay, mostly--his fault that Paris hated Rory, and he needed to do something about that.  
  
"Hey, Rory," he greeted, approaching them.  
  
"Hey," she echoed tentatively.  
  
Paris' eyes shifted from one to the other. "Do you have…the…history notes from last Wednesday?" Tristan finally formed. "I think I missed the part on the…Hapsburgs."  
  
"There was a whole unit on the Hapsburgs," Paris pointed out chillingly.  
  
"I know, I missed a certain person."  
  
"Who?" she challenged.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Pairs sneered. "That's probably why he needs the notes," Rory informed her. "I'll bring them  
  
tomorrow."  
  
"Great, thanks." Tristan stood by Paris until Rory was far enough away that Paris wouldn't waste her time, then ambled to his next class, dull without the promise of Rory.  
  
*  
  
Dean came out of the classroom to find Rory and Paris sniping at each other. He was about to go up and help, when Tristan swooped in and evidently solved the conflict. He shook his head and turned to go to his next class, if he could find it.  
  
What was going on with Rory and Tristan? Dean was burning with interest, wondering if the boy she once hated was now her boyfriend. Dean shuddered at the thought of it-it was not right.  
  
In class, Rory seemed troubled, and he assumed it was unusual for her to lack attention span. Even the teacher seemed riddled. Dean knew Rory well enough to know she was thinking about something, and that it wasn't pleasant. He had observed she and Tristan all through the period, and he wasn't too surprised that Tristan spent a good amount of time staring at her, but Rory--he knew she was a stellar student, not one to be distracted by trifling matters.  
  
Why, why had his parents forced him to go to this school, with its scary gargoyles and even more outrageous student body? These people were precisely as Rory had told him, horrible, competitive, snobby kids with nothing but money inside.  
  
Dean was lost. Why was this place so huge? As he wandered sort of aimlessly, he ran into Tristan-literally.  
  
"Sorry," he said gruffly.  
  
"Going somewhere?" Tristan challenged.  
  
"No."  
  
"You're lost."  
  
"No."  
  
Tristan looked at him. "Yeah, you are." Tristan snatched the schedule from him. "It's over there, down the second corridor on your left, turn right at the drinking fountain, door on your right."  
  
"Uh, thanks." Tristan said nothing more, just left. Dean followed his instructions, amazed that Tristan had pointed him to the right place. He jumped inside a minute before the bell and caught his breath.  
  
*  
  
Rory was relieved: the last period of the day. Everyday at Chilton was stressful, but today topped them all. Not only did Dean show up, there was homework galore. All she wanted to do right now was curl up with a cup of coffee and talk to her mom. Tristan came in and sat in his assigned seat, one row behind and two chairs over from her. Not that she had memorized where they sat in proximity to each other.  
  
This time, Rory paid attention, almost overzealously, writing down nearly every word that came out of her teacher's mouth. She could feel Tristan's stare, as always, boring into the side of her face. The gaze did her little good: it was another thing to have to ignore.  
  
Finally, after fifty minutes of torture, the final bell rang, and Rory practically ran to her locker. As she was rushing to stuff books in her bag, Dean walked up to his locker. Deciding it was rude to ignore him, Rory turned and asked him: "How was your day?"  
  
"Confusing," Dean answered, hardly turning to her.  
  
"Did you fine everything all right?" Rory paused to let him reply, but there was none. "Cause if you didn't, I'd be happy to show you where-"  
  
"I gotta go," Dean said roughly and, slamming his locker, marched away, around the corner and presumably out the front door.  
  
Rory stood by her locker, befuddled. What had caused that? What had she done to him? Her books forgotten, Rory let her bag slide down to her feet and leaned against the locker.  
  
"You know, I don't think lockers make the best pillows," Tristan theorized.  
  
"Better than desks," Rory responded, happy to see him. At least he wasn't being too weird today--although, what was that defending thing in front of Paris? What was wrong with people today?! They were suddenly baffling enigmas.  
  
"So, what books are going home tonight?" Tristan asked, probably after seeing the deflated bag at her feet.  
  
"Oh, uh…" Rory stalled, digging in her locker for the answer. "Math, History and English," she finally told him.  
  
"What about Science? The quiz is tomorrow."  
  
"I already studied and wrote down the confusing stuff on note cards."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I have to go…catch my bus," Rory added.  
  
"Bye."  
  
"See you." Rory shut her locker and walked slowly to the bus, hoping she didn't miss it. Her feet refused to move any faster. Her whole body felt the strain of the day and the weight of her backpack didn't help any. As she trekked to the bus, she saw Dean's green truck, in the middle of the lot. He was leaning against the back of the seat, his bag next to him, tie and blazer discarded.  
  
Rory, not wanting to think about these people or this school any more, waked resolutely to the bus stop, just in time. On the bus, she pulled out her book and immersed herself in the vivid world that was so far away.  
  
At home, her mother was not there, but had left a note at lunch telling her to come to Luke's at five. Rory decided to do some homework so it wouldn't consume her thoughts and make her feel guilty. Pulling out her textbook, she read about the people she usually found so interesting, but today, could not connect to.  
  
The phone sounded loudly, making her jump and scream softly. "Hello?" she asked when she picked it up on the third ring after gathering herself.  
  
"Rory?"  
  
She knew it was Dean, after having heard him so many other times on the phone. "Dean?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
There was an awkward lull. "Do you need something?"  
  
"Well…I was just going to ask you a question. It's kind of personal," he warned.  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"What's going on with you and Tristan?"  
  
"Me and Tristan? We're friends."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"Yes, that's all," Rory said, irritated. He broke up with her a long time ago, and no longer should care about who she saw.  
  
"Didn't look that way to me."  
  
"Maybe you need glasses."  
  
"Okay. Bye, then."  
  
"Goodbye," Rory muttered. When she looked at her watch, she realized she was going to be late meeting her mom if she didn't leave. Had she been reading for that long?  
  
*  
  
Tristan was bewildered about his day, and glad it was, at long last, over. Dean was at Chilton. No matter how many times he told himself this, it always seemed preposterous. What could he possibly be doing there? And, more importantly, how did Rory feel?  
  
When he had given him directions earlier, Tristan wasn't trying to be nice. On the contrary, all he was doing was acting--if he made even the most tenuous relationship with Dean, maybe Rory would see that he wasn't bitter.  
  
Tristan allowed the butler to open the door in the vast house and let the chauffeur park his car. He veered slowly through the house, as was his habit, before ascending the staircase to his third-floor room. Once in his room, Tristan discarded the tie, blazer and shirt, sliding out of the pants, and changed into his favorite pair of faded jeans and a tee shirt. The mail was on his desk, nothing interesting, a few letters from acquaintances, and some pompous looking invitations to various fundraisers and dances held by the same shallow people he was forced to see every weekend at the club.  
  
Tristan strode into his spacious bathroom, connected with a perfectly polished wooden door to his bedroom and sitting room. He poured water into his hands and let it stream down his face, and mussed up his hair with it. When he looked up, Tristan studied his face. What did Rory think about him? Did she obsess about him as he did about her?  
  
That last statement wasn't true, or even possible, Tristan knew, because Rory was too level-headed to be obsessed by some guy. Still staring in the mirror, Tristan betrayed his confident nature by comparing himself to Dean. He wondered if he had Dean beat in the looks department by Rory's standards. His face certainly helped him with the girls, but he knew Rory wasn't deceived by looks.  
  
What was he doing? Tristan shook his head at himself, standing in his bathroom, thinking about how he measured up to some guy. He walked out, downstairs, and through the kitchen, picking up a croissant as he went. As he swung the door open, his father came in the other side. "Son."  
  
"Sir."  
  
"Good day?" his father asked stiffly.  
  
"Yes, sir." Tristan and his father had more or less the same conversation every time they met, never talking about how they felt but making perfunctory responses and asking trite questions.  
  
"Good." His father nodded for emphasis. "Well, back to the stacks."  
  
Tristan nodded, said his good-byes, and continued on his way through the house to the solarium, where he usually sat in a chair and did some homework. He almost laughed at the thought of his father seeing a stack of paper anywhere, much less having to do something with it.  
  
*  
  
Dean slumped on the couch when he got home, dropping his bag with a depressing thud on the hardwood floor of the living room. Clara ran to meet him, hounding him with questions about the fancy school, playing with his rejected tie.  
  
"It was fine, Clara," he said, frustrated with his sister. He didn't want to talk to his parents, knowing it would be hard to maintain civility. He was regretting every second of his day. After calling Rory, he felt even more pathetic, hearing the slightly sharp edge her voice had when he accused her of being more than friends with Tristan, who had been surprisingly courteous about giving him directions. Dean was smart enough to know that there had to be an ulterior motive involved, one he didn't know about. But he could guess.  
  
He dug out his heavy, cumbersome books, marveling at the fact that he actually had some of these ridiculously complicated books. How was he going to do this?  
  
Dean disappeared into his room and foraged through the closet for his lap tray, which doubled as a desk when he didn't want to sit at the more formal version. As he rustled through the many things clogging his closet floor, he came across his pictures of Rory. He smiled fondly, remembering when he had to look at these everyday to make in through. Now, he glanced at them one and a while, but they ultimately mad him sad and nostalgic, so her generally stayed away from that box.  
  
The bell on the front door rang, but Dean knew it was either one of Clara's friends or a salesman, but in any event, Clara liked opening the door. After a few seconds, he heard, "Dean!"  
  
Slightly puzzled, Dean jogged to the door, and found Lane standing there. "Hi," she said.  
  
"Hey."  
  
There was a little pause. "Well, I had to come and see if you had some of my notes."  
  
"From?"  
  
"The project we worked on last weekend."  
  
"I'll check. Hold on." Dean went to his room and found, indeed, a set of Lane's notes from his former school that he was now missing. "Here you go."  
  
"Thanks." Lane turned and trotted down the porch steps, and Dean watched her go, envying her for going to Stars Hollow High.  
  
The familiar sound of the garage door opening echoed throughout the house, and Dean knew his mother was home from work, and would expect to hear all the news from Chilton. He and his parents had a good relationship, but nothing like the one Rory and Lorelai had. They were still a little disconcerted about his decision to break up with Rory, whom they had loved, but were supportive nonetheless.  
  
"Hey, honey," his mother said, greeting Clara, who always ambushed her the second she came through the door. Dean listened to the familiar sounds of his mother's daily routine--set down bags, drop keys in bowl, kick shoes into corner. She emerged through the kitchen door, where Dean was sitting at the table. She kissed the top of his head. "So?"  
  
"It's hard," was all Dean said.  
  
"That's to be expected." His mother hesitated. "Did you see Rory?"  
  
"Yeah. She helped me find a couple of classes."  
  
"She's a nice girl." She started pulling out ingredients for dinner, always something quick, not like she did on the weekends, where she made food mostly from scratch. "Did you like it?"  
  
Dean didn't want to say that he was miserable at the thought of spending the rest of the school year there, instead opting for, "It'll take some getting used to, after Stars Hollow High."  
  
*  
  
Rory saw her mother through the window at Luke's arguing with him about her coffee intake that day. No matter how bad her day had been, the sight of her mother pestering Luke always cheered her up.  
  
"Hi, Mom."  
  
"Hey, kid. Luke here was just trying to--"  
  
"Prevent you from killing yourself," Luke interjected.  
  
"At least I'd die happy," Lorelai shot back.  
  
"And short." Luke poured two cups and started on the burgers.  
  
"So, how was your day?" Lorelai asked, sipping her coffee gratefully.  
  
"You will not believe what happened."  
  
"Let me guess: Paris walked up and pledged her undying devotion--"  
  
"Dean showed up," Rory blurted out, unable to contain the news anymore.  
  
"W--what?" Lorelai momentarily ceased drinking to discern if her daughter was serious or not. "Really? Showed up? Like--"  
  
"He goes there now."  
  
"No."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How did we not know about this?" Lorelai frowned. "How do you feel?" she asked sympathetically.  
  
"I don't know. He was okay in the beginning, but then when Tristan and I got back from lunch he was all..."  
  
"You and Tristan?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Out to lunch?" Lorelai started smiling.  
  
Rory knew where this was headed. "Mom--"  
  
"First lunch, then dinner, then 'studying'--"  
  
"Don't say 'studying' like that."  
  
"--then marriage--"  
  
"Mom!"  
  
"--soon, you'll be comparing blenders--"  
  
"Luke! No more coffee for her!"  
  
"I tried to tell you, Rory."  
  
"Really, so how did he look when you came back?" Lorelai asked, serious again.  
  
"Angry."  
  
"Maybe he wants to get back together with you."  
  
"No." Rory shook her head.  
  
"Honey, he told you he loved you. Things like that don't fade quickly."  
  
"He just...doesn't. I know it."  
  
"Fine." Lorelai put her arms up in the air, a sign of surrender. "I still wonder how we didn't know this."  
  
"Lane could have known." Rory was verbalizing her thoughts from earlier. "Maybe she didn't tell me because she thought I'd go in a funk again."  
  
"It's possible." Luke set the burgers down, and Lorelai smiled sweetly.  
  
"Luke..."  
  
"No."  
  
"Puh-lease?"  
  
"When your own daughter starts complaining, it's time to stop, Lorelai."  
  
"It's not like she can't handle me."  
  
"I'd rethink that statement if I were you," Rory interjected.  
  
"There? See?" Luke saw customers come in and disappeared behind the counter.  
  
"Traitor!" Lorelai cried in mock anger.  
  
They looked up when the door swung open, admitting Lane, who came over to them. "Guess what? I--"  
  
"Did you know about this?" Rory asked, cutting her off.  
  
"Know about..."  
  
"Dean!"  
  
Lorelai stood up, giving her seat to Lane and went to the counter to get her cup filled--or attempt to. Lane sat down and looked at Rory's slightly agitated face. "Well..."  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?" Rory set her cup down to face her friend without obstacles.  
  
"I didn't think you'd want to know."  
  
  
  
"You said the same thing about being science partners."  
  
"Rory, I'm sorry. I thought you'd be all sad again, and then I thought, maybe you wouldn't run into him." Lane settled down into the seat and leaned her elbows on the table. "Sorry."  
  
Rory sighed. "It's okay. I just didn't love the way I found out."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"A freak encounter in the courtyard by the fountain."  
  
Lane groaned. "Sorry--"  
  
"Lane, it's okay. So, what were you going to tell me?"  
  
*  
  
Tristan drove fast. No matter where he was going, no matter the distance, no matter if he was in a hurry or not, he sped along, and though he wasn't reckless, he was more daring than his parents preferred. He screeched into his spot at Chilton, in the front row, displaying his status for everyone see.  
  
As he climbed out of the car, he was still straightening his tie and arranging his hair in the patented Tristan Dugray sloppy style. Rory was half-jogging from the bus stop, and he waited for her by the front entrance, watching her juggle backpack, hair-tie and sweater.  
  
"Need some help?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah," she replied breathlessly. She handed him the bag and he obligingly carried it, noticing her smell on it--her apple shampoo and clean soapy aroma. Rory tied her hair back into a remarkably neat ponytail and pulled her sweater over her blouse. "Thanks," she said, reclaiming the bag.  
  
"No problem," he responded, knowing she would roll her eyes and smile slightly out of amusement. "So, interesting night?" he asked her.  
  
"They never are. I don't know why you bother to ask."  
  
"I'm interested."  
  
"Do you have no life?"  
  
"Not outside of you," he teased. "I wake up, wis--"  
  
"Stop there. I don't think I want to hear this." Rory smiled and turned the appropriate corner to her locker. Tristan continued down the hall, grinning and slapping hands with his friends, who were just as conceited as he. He looked toward his locker and found the usual cache of girls, waiting for him. A few were underclassmen, but most were his age.  
  
Truthfully, he now hated going through the hordes of girls just to get to his locker. He used to enjoy it, but it got old after a while. Besides, there was only one he wanted to be waiting for him. Tristan flirted with the obligatory charm and quickly left for class.  
  
Several detours were taken along the way, where he paused to talk to his friends and finally found who he was looking for: Paris.  
  
"Hey, Paris!" he called, catching up to her, Madeline and Louise.  
  
"Hey, Tristan," Louise greeted him with her usual appraisal.  
  
"Hi," Madeline said, perky as always.  
  
"What?" Paris demanded.  
  
"I need to talk to you," he said, dragging her into a nook between the drinking fountain and the lockers. "Why are you so hard on Rory?"  
  
"She treated me like a--"  
  
"Like a friend." Tristan looked into Paris' face, made less attractive with a flash of jealousy and bitterness. "She tried to help you, Paris."  
  
"Like hell she did!" Paris turned to go, but Tristan constricted her.  
  
"She doesn't deserve this," he whispered.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I want you to be nice to her."  
  
"She won't go out with you," Paris snapped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You won't get her to go out with you by trying to help out her social life," Paris expanded.  
  
"I don't care."  
  
Paris stared at him. He could see the envy swimming in her eyes, and she saw the caring in his--but not caring for her. "She doesn't like you!" Paris was almost yelling now. "If she doesn't want you, move on!" Paris stormed down the hall, taking Madeline and Louise with her.  
  
*  
  
Dean found his class quickly, pleased he had remembered the way there. This school had twists and turns like no place he had ever been, and the numbering of the classrooms was illogical. But he was here.  
  
Rory was already there when he came in, reviewing her notes from yesterday. She looked up momentarily when he entered but returned to her notes, looking a little disgruntled with him.  
  
Now he had done two very regrettable things: broken up with her, first, then accused her of dating someone, like he didn't trust her, which wasn't true. But Rory thought it was, and that was what mattered. When did his life become a soap?  
  
Tristan strode in with his usual self-assured gait and sat in his seat directly behind Rory. He looked...not disheveled, but vaguely upset. Dean saw the way he looked at Rory: with longing. Tristan stared at her hair, her ear, her shoulder--anything of her he could see.  
  
Disgusted, Dean prepared for note taking. He had taken notes before, but notes at Chilton could be a career. There was always something the teacher said that he needed to write down, and a vicious circle ensued: while he wrote down the necessary comment, the teacher said another essential snippet of information, and he had to write that down, resulting in his neck hurting from concentrating on the paper so intently.  
  
Ms. Atergaph was introducing an assignment: pick one of Henry VIII's wives and do a personality study on them, and try to provide insight into their reasons for marrying Henry, possibly ulterior motive, why the marriage didn't work, etc. "This will be presented on Monday. A full presentation, folks, including a poster. Since this is a difficult assignment, there will be groups." Ms. Atergaph pulled a book into her arm. "I assigned you all numbers, then drew from a hat to see who was with whom. Totally random," she assured them. She rattled off names Dean didn't recognize until he came to his.  
  
"Dean, Rory, and Tristan..."  
  
*  
  
Rory sat motionless. Did she just say that? Dean and Tristan--in a group-- with her. No, this could not be happening. It was too weird, like a cheesy movie making fun of Mystery Science Theater 3000 or something. Alternate universe weird. Other names faded into a boring mush as Rory nervously contemplated being in a group with those two. This had some definite awkward potential. She needed her mother.  
  
The three of them gathered by Rory's and Dean's lockers and an unpleasant silence ensued. "We need to meet," Rory said, stating the obvious.  
  
"Yeah," Tristan agreed.  
  
"In Stars Hollow," Dean chimed in.  
  
"The two of us live there," Rory commented.  
  
"Thanks for the update," Tristan said dryly. "Whose house?"  
  
"Mine's fine, if you don't mind my bi-polar, neurotic mother," Rory offered.  
  
"Nice mix," Tristan interjected.  
  
"Tonight?" Dean asked.  
  
"Six," Rory suggested. The other two nodded in agreement and the group dispersed. Rory dazedly wandered to her next class, feeling sick. Paris came and walked next to her, not saying anything, until Rory bit off, "What?"  
  
"It's really pathetic that you make Tristan do your begging for you."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, you know what I mean," Paris said.  
  
"No, I don't," Rory told her.  
  
"He came up to me today."  
  
"Well, lucky him," Rory said sarcastically.  
  
"And he said I should forgive you."  
  
"Then he's right."  
  
"You didn't ask him to do that?" Paris asked, incredulous.  
  
"No. He's his own person."  
  
"Oh." Paris stopped walking, and Rory copied her. "So, he just did that?"  
  
"Of his own free will."  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
"Probably because he knows he's to blame."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"He told you that I set you up."  
  
"It would have come out eventually."  
  
"But it wasn't supposed to come out then!" Rory sighed. "I have to go."  
  
*  
  
Tristan found Rory's house after almost ten minutes of looking for the turn. It was right in front of him, and he couldn't believe he'd missed the rooster statue at first. Her house was old, beautiful and large, light blue with shutters. He found the house endearingly traditional. There wasn't another car parked in front, meaning there were two scenarios: Dean had walked, or he wasn't there yet.  
  
The bell echoed through the house, which Tristan could hear on the porch. A few seconds later, there was a thundering down the stairs, and a pretty woman, somewhere in her thirties, opened the door, wearing tight jeans and an Old Navy shirt.  
  
"I'm Lorelai," she said. "You have got to be Tristan--Mary Tristan."  
  
"That's me," Tristan said cheerfully, knowing that a formal introduction would probably be lost on Rory's mother.  
  
"They're in the living room, and if you can't find it on your own, I don't know how you made it to eleventh grade."  
  
"Thanks." Tristan followed her out of the foyer, seeing the living room immediately on his left, and Rory and Dean seated at the coffee table, notes spread out, discussing something quietly.  
  
They stopped when he came in the room, and Rory stood up. "Hey. Did you find it okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Small town."  
  
"It is," Rory agreed. "Anything I can get you? Water? Soda? Coffee?"  
  
"I'm fine, thanks."  
  
"All right then, let's get started. Any thoughts?" There was silence, so Rory went on. "I was thinking we could do his third wife, Jane Seymour, because there isn't that much really said about her. She's unusual, and not a lot of people will pick her, so it'll be original. Agreed?"  
  
The boys nodded their appropriation of Jane Seymour as the project basis. "Okay," Rory continued when no one else offered input, "we need to start by gathering basic facts about her: birthdate, family situation, age at marriage, et cetra. Then, we need to analyze the marriage: how long did it last, did they get along, why was she the only one Henry loved, even from the beginning? And, why did he asked to be buried with her?"  
  
Still, a quietus met her remarks. "I have looked up her birthdate, and it ranges from 1509 to 1515, so we should pick a year in the middle, which will give us an age. It is obvious why Henry loved her in retrospect, she being the only to give him a male heir, but why, even before, was he drawn to her?" Still, nothing. "Okay, someone else speak. I'm tired of my own voice."  
  
"I think your foundation is stable," Tristan began rather uncertainly, "but I think you need to factor in some other things. Like, when did he meet her? How long had he known her in comparison to the others? Things like that."  
  
"Good idea." Rory nodded emphatically. "So, we should think about poster layout. Where do we want the most important facts? The picture? The dates?" Rory reached behind the couch to grab some posterboard. "One of us will have to keep the poster until the project is due, and since it's already here, I'm volunteering."  
  
"Fine," Dean said, the first thing so far. "We need to arrange the presentation. Who'll say what, in what order we'll say it, how to coordinate it with the poster, et cetra."  
  
"Good. Well, hit the books I guess." They opened their thick textbooks and leafed through pages until they found the chapter. They designated people to search for specific things, and were silent for the next hour.  
  
Lorelai trotted into the room. "So, what's going on?" she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  
  
"Studying," Rory said.  
  
"About?"  
  
"Jane Seymour?"  
  
"The actress?"  
  
"Henry VIII's third wife."  
  
"So, they're about the same age."  
  
"Do you have a point?" Rory asked, not unkindly.  
  
"I want pizza."  
  
"Order some."  
  
"Do you want pizza?"  
  
Rory looked to Dean and Tristan, who nodded, and Rory nodded to her mother.  
  
"Okay, coming right up. Oh, hey, can we get ice cream too?" Lorelai begged.  
  
"I didn't know you could order ice cream," Rory said doubtfully.  
  
"I was thinking you could go get some."  
  
"I'm studying."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Mom, go and get ice cream. Or ask Sookie to come by and bring some."  
  
"All right. Be all...Miss Smarty then."  
  
"I enjoy it," Rory informed her, obviously a little frustrated.  
  
Lorelai turned to go, and Rory bent her head again. "Oh, do you think they have the good bread, with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel?"  
  
"Ask!"  
  
"But what if they don't?"  
  
"Lorelai, go play by yourself!"  
  
"Ooh, someone's grouchy." Lorelai grinned and jogged off toward the kitchen, and they heard: "Joe? It's Lorelai. Do you have the good bread with the cinnamon and sugar and caramel still? Great! I want two large everything pizzas, and a bag of the good bread--charro? That's what it's called? Really? Like the crazy--twenty minutes? Thanks."  
  
Rory shook her head. "So, that's your mom?" Tristan inquired.  
  
"Yep, that's her."  
  
"She's...hyper."  
  
"Comes from the coffee addiction."  
  
"I see."  
  
"She grows on you."  
  
"Literally?"  
  
"Funny." Rory wrote a phrase on her note cards and studiously bent her head over the dense book, her hair falling across the page. Tristan could barely breathe for wanting to touch it, but when he looked up, Dean was glowering at him, so Tristan turned back to his books and kept writing.  
  
*  
  
Dean showed up at Rory's a few minutes early, nervous. What would this be like? Lorelai hated him, Rory was jumpy and awkward around him, and Tristan would be there--enough said.  
  
Lorelai answered the door, but stepped out onto the porch, closing but not latching the door behind her. "I need to apologize for that day in the market--"  
  
"Don't."  
  
"No, no I mean it. Rory was really upset for five or six weeks after you broke up and it upset me, and I needed someone to yell at, and unfortunately, you seemed like a pretty good prospect. So, I'm sorry." Lorelai stepped backward into the house. "She's in the living room."  
  
Dean smiled tentatively and found Rory on the floor by the coffee table, examining her notes. "Hey." She looked up and smiled, then didn't smile, and finally settled on smiling.  
  
"Can I get you something?"  
  
"No, thank you. Rory, we need to talk."  
  
"Okay. How about next month?"  
  
"Rory..."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
"I am sorry about storming off, I was just hurt and upset."  
  
"Dean, it's not your fault. I don't know what got into me."  
  
"What are you trying to say, Rory?"  
  
"I--" At that moment, Tristan came in, ending any further discussion of the breakup. Dean sat there, listening to Rory drone on about Jane Seymour and research and posters, all the while wondering what she had been about to say. Were there the two words he'd been longing to hear all summer in that sentence? Had she lost her nerve? Was she even thing about getting back together with him? Or was she into Tristan?  
  
These questions boggled him, but, noticing it was taking him an inordinately long time to participate, said something about the poster and presentation correlating. They spent an hour researching, writing, noting important events, and thinking about how each fact related to the marriage of Henry to Jane. Who cared anymore? They died five hundred years ago, and there's no use trying to give them marriage counseling now. Henry was messed up and obsessive, and there's nothing can be done about it now.  
  
Dean was watching Tristan intently, seeing how he looked yearningly at the strands of Rory's hair draped over her arm. When Tristan found him scowling, he quickly resumed studying. Dean had known it since the fateful dance: Tristan had a major thing for Rory. And now, Dean was wondering if it was a thing, or something more...meaningful.  
  
*  
  
Rory was dreading the whole encounter. She and Dean and Tristan--once, it had been she and Dean against Tristan, then it had turned to Rory and Tristan being tenuous allies, and now, it was about to the point of each man for himself. When Dean came, she heard her mother talking to him out on the porch, although she didn't know what they were saying, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.  
  
Dean and she started to talk, and her sentence was cut off by Tristan. She was going to tell Dean that she regretted her speechlessness that night, and that she missed him, but she couldn't get back together with him--it would be too weird. Tristan had impeccable timing, since she wasn't sure about how to tell Dean--or if she was even set in her no-getting-back- together position.  
  
After her mother interrupted them, Rory realized it was getting to be seven, and the study session should end at eight, eight-thirty by the latest, because Tristan had to drive home, and she wasn't sure if Dean had finished all his catch-up work yet.  
  
Her mother was being especially bothersome tonight, and Rory knew why: studying made her antsy. The Shakespeare test had been a miracle, because Lorelai was so anti-studying--but look what had happened then. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, and was desperately trying to avoid looking into anyone's except her mother's.  
  
Pizza arrived in exactly twenty minutes, and everyone dug in, even--to Lorelai's and Dean's obvious shock--Tristan. Rory knew he was a big pizza eater, so she could be amused by the looks of awe on the faces of Lorelai and Dean. She and Tristan shared a secret sly grin and continued to eat their way through one pizza and half of the other--Lorelai also ate most of the "good bread."  
  
Rory was looking forward to this evening ending. Since the project was due Monday, it meant there were only a few more torture sessions to live through. Not that she minded her company--each was nice, on their own, but together, they were terrible. Like soda and toothpaste.  
  
After they left, at eight-fifteen, Lorelai and Rory flopped on the couch. "So, that wasn't too bad," Lorelai said optimistically.  
  
"I guess not. I just feel stupid, being stared at like I'm...Scarlett O'Hara or something."  
  
"Scarlett O'Hara?"  
  
"Oh, you know. She was always ogled."  
  
"Okay." Lorelai sighed. "Honey, do you miss Dean still?"  
  
Rory looked at her mother in askance. "You know me."  
  
"So you do?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
Rory swallowed. "I...don't know."  
  
"What's keeping you from knowing?"  
  
"Life."  
  
"Be less specific." Lorelai traded her semi-reclined position for a sitting one. "Babe, you gotta know whether or not you want to get back together with him. Otherwise, you're gonna hurt both of you--and the third person I know you're not telling me about."  
  
"Why is there a third person?" Rory asked, mimicking her mother's stance.  
  
"Honey, I know you. You are so level-headed, you'd know if you loved Dean. And I can see that Tristan is coming in the way of that."  
  
"Tristan?!"  
  
"Yes, Tristan."  
  
"That's ridiculous."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No! He looks at you all the time. He has this great banter with you--I see it. And you have to choose: do you want security, because you know Dean is so stable, or do you want to try something new?"  
  
Rory bit her lip and creased her forehead.  
  
"Rory, dating is tough. I'll be the first one to tell you. But maybe you should try dating someone new, if you don't think you really, truly love Dean. If you date other people, maybe it'll help you find the qualities you want in a soulmate." Lorelai sighed and leaned back again, still looking into her daughter's face. "If you get back together with Dean, and you aren't really committed, you're going to hurt both of you even more than before."  
  
Rory slumped back against the couch back. What was this? She, having guy dilemmas? Lorelai hugged her in understanding. "Goodnight, babe. Think about it."  
  
Lorelai went upstairs, and Rory heard the rummaging of her mother getting ready for bed, almost two hours early. That was odd. Oh, well, she had other things to figure out.  
  
Like, why would he mother say Tristan liked her--in that way? 


	2. A Friends Thing

They were at the front of the class, patiently awaiting the go-ahead from Ms. Atergaph, who was marking down the last group's grade in her red book. "Okay, Dean, Rory, Tristan, let's see it." She smiled and folded her hand across the book. Tristan heard Rory swallow and begin the presentation.  
  
"We chose Henry VIII's third wife, Jane Seymour. She was the only wife with the exception of his last wife, who was not beheaded or divorced.  
  
Dean began his bit about their meeting, their attraction to one another, ending with the marriage. Tristan picked up where Dean left off, telling details about the marriage, how they had gotten along, and the significance of Edward in the marriage, concluding his speech with the death of Jane. Rory then led the analysis portion, and all three fielded questions.  
  
Outside, after class, all three stood in a grouping similar to the one last week. "So, that wasn't so bad," Rory commented.  
  
"Could have been worse," Dean agreed.  
  
"Definitely," Tristan added unnecessarily. Dean looked at them and continued on his way to class. Tristan was careful to keep up with Rory. "So, my parents have this thing going on..."  
  
Rory turned to him and raised her eyebrows. "Yes? Continue."  
  
"Well, it's this big party, kind of a Thanksgiving thing."  
  
"Keep going." Rory dodged a notebook sailing down the hall, colliding with Tristan on the side. "Sorry."  
  
"I need a date."  
  
"So? That should be no trouble. You could auction yourself, hold a drawing-- "  
  
"The point is, I need someone who I'd feel comfortable meeting my parents."  
  
"Take..." Rory pondered who he should take.  
  
Tristan took a deep breath. Maybe he could convince her it was just a friends thing. It wasn't. But it was true that he needed someone there with him who could make intelligent conversation. "I'd like you to come with me."  
  
Rory came to a full halt and stared. "Me?" she finally squeaked.  
  
*  
  
Rory breathed a sigh of relief when the project was over. She and Dean were so uncomfortable around each other, even Tristan began to feel misplaced when with them. Keeping her spine straight, Rory had told Dean she couldn't get back together with him. Seeing the expression on his face, she had almost reconsidered, but knew it wouldn't work. It couldn't. Not after breaking up once.  
  
And there was Tristan. Always Tristan. Before her mother had mentioned it, Rory was perfectly content to have a platonic friendship with him. But now...what was she going to do? Her life had always been so planned: go to school, be valedictorian, go to Harvard. End of story. And now, there was all this confusion.  
  
But it wasn't like she needed a boyfriend. Rory Gilmore could certainly survive without a boyfriend, and had done so admirably for the last several months. Rory couldn't bear to think about the pathetically superficial situation for a moment longer, but her attempt was thwarted when Tristan jogged up beside her.  
  
"I'd like you to come with me."  
  
"Me?" Ooh, off to a good start, Rory chided herself, although it was what she was thinking. "I don't know..."  
  
"A friends thing."  
  
"No, it's not that. I've just never been that good around..." Rory wanted to say rich people, but instead opted for, "...parties. You know."  
  
"Rich parties?"  
  
"Well...yeah."  
  
"It's fine. Look, it's no big deal, Rory. There's no pressure, and if you don't want to go, I'll understand."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Friday."  
  
"Hmmm." Rory had her Friday night dinners, but she knew her grandparents would let her out if it was for a Dugray party. "Well..." What could it hurt? "Okay."  
  
*  
  
"Well...okay." What? Okay?! This had the potential to be the best party his parents had ever thrown. Not because it would be like the Fourth of July with expensive fireworks, not because it would be like Christmas with the gaudy tree, but because Rory would be there.  
  
Attempting to keep his excitement contained, Tristan said, "I'll pick you up at five."  
  
"What time does it get over?"  
  
"Nine or ten. Depending on who insults whom first."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Lunch?" Tristan didn't want to press his luck, but hey, they needed to discuss plans, right?  
  
"Oh--sure."  
  
"Front doors," Tristan called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. He felt like he was Gene Kelly, floating above everything. Rory would come to the party with him, would possibly dance with him, maybe even smile at him in that special Rory-esque way...Tristan began to feel stupid. He was fantacizing about a girl smiling at him. Now that was obsessed.  
  
No, that was head over heels in love.  
  
Tristan sensed her rounding the corner and turned. She wasn't alone; she and Dean were talking about something, and looked to Tristan's suspicious eyes, very content together.  
  
He realized it was the one thing he hadn't considered when he invited Rory out: the chance that she and Dean might be together again, or close to it. When he looked at them again, he felt it could be true: Dean looked at her with an admiring expression written across every one of his features. And then Tristan knew it: he and Rory would never be more than friends because there was Dean, and there always would be.  
  
Tristan almost decided to just go, but then rethought. At least he would be able to love Rory as a friend, and he couldn't jeopardize that. As he walked up behind her, he saw Dean's eyes change and avert abruptly from him. "See you around," he told Rory suddenly, and Rory turned.  
  
"Oh, hi," she greeted him.  
  
"Ready?" Tristan asked, hoping the disappointment of his latest contemplation hadn't affected his voice.  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Rory followed him to the front doors, and stopped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The rain."  
  
Tristan gazed out the window and noticed that it was pouring. "Run?" he asked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.  
  
"One, two, three," she said, and they took off for his car. Rory squealed in delight as the cold rain pelted her, and Tristan laughed at her childlike innocence. He felt his shirt sticking to his chest, his pants adhering to his legs.  
  
He unlocked the doors with the remote and flung himself inside, collapsing against the seat. Turning to Rory, he saw her giggling as she assessed the wetness of her knee socks. "They make good elastic nowadays, don't they?" she posed.  
  
"Yes." Tristan dug through his backseat and emerged with a towel. "Here." He watched as Rory dried her hair, squeezing portions, letting the water drain. Her blue eyes lit up, her cheeks were a pleasant pink, and her face was dewed with rain. Tristan's stomach ached as he realized that he would never have her.  
  
"Sorry, it's kind of wet," Rory apologized and handed him the slightly damp towel.  
  
"No problem."  
  
"Argh!" Rory chuckled at his lack of vocabulary and slumped against the seat.  
  
*  
  
Tristan took the towel, and Rory relaxed in the posh interior. Why was she feeling this way? Warm and free and almost...giddy around him. Rory surreptitiously observed him as he dried his hair and loosened his neck tie, and thought about the progression of feelings she had felt for him. First, contempt, then cautious friendliness, then a warm, caring emotion, and finally, love.  
  
Though she was scared to admit it, she loved Tristan Dugray. Throughout the last several months, he had shown her that he wasn't really a jerk, it was all kind of a facade, but inside he was capable of loving someone, and perhaps even devotion. Still, there was always a slight air of arrogance, but Rory knew it never went away, that it was how he was born and raised. Most intoxicating of all, however, was the amazing self-confidence he had. Even now, just walking into a restaurant, he held himself well, and people noticed. "Coffee?" he asked.  
  
"Why do you bother to waste your breath?"  
  
"Right. Two large black house brews." Tristan handed her the cup and lead her to a table. "Okay, now if you don't like this, keep in mind there's a GM station down the street."  
  
"No, I won't go to GM."  
  
"Honda and Toyota, but not GM?"  
  
"Not GM," Rory affirmed.  
  
Tristan shook his head and sipped. "Never mind."  
  
"So, is there anything we need to go over?" Rory hoped he knew she was talking about the party, because she didn't want to elaborate.  
  
"I'll pick you up at five in Stars Hollow, we'll be bored out of our skulls for four hours, and then I'll drive you back."  
  
"Sounds good. Formal?"  
  
"Yes. Duh."  
  
"How formal?"  
  
"Are there that many different kinds?"  
  
"Of course. There's ball gown formal, and you know, plaid skirt formal, and floral print dress formal or khaki pants formal or slip dress formal..."  
  
"I'd say, like your birthday at your grandparents."  
  
"Oh, kind of an Edith Wharton formal?"  
  
"Since when did you bring people's names into the categorization?"  
  
"Long story."  
  
"Okay." Rory watched as Tristan applied himself to his cheeseburger, eating as though unaffected by anything around him. Who knew Tristan ate cheeseburgers for lunch? Rory realized that she might be one of the few.  
  
Rory picked hers up and ate it quickly, starving as she was. "So, is there anything in particular I should know about this party?" Rory asked after her third bite.  
  
"Well," Tristan began around a mouthful, "these people are snotty. Like, really arrogant." He paused to swallow. "Just don't say much, I guess, unless you're really perceptive about their social position."  
  
"I think I've just stepped into 'My Fair Lady'."  
  
"The weather and your health, Eliza," Tristan replied, imitating Henry Higgins. Rory couldn't help herself--she started to laugh. When she attempted to keep the volume to a minimum, she contracted the hiccups.  
  
"Don't--[hiccup]--do that to--[hiccup]--me in a fancy--[hiccup]-- restaurant."  
  
*  
  
Tristan could hardly focus his eyes on the road. He had memorized every inch of the route to Rory's house, so there was no problem there, but it was difficult to comprehend the red lights and other motorists. Without any fatal incident, Tristan pulled up at the Gilmore household promptly at five.  
  
Nervous, he rang the doorbell.  
  
"He's here!" he heard from inside.  
  
"What?" That was Rory.  
  
"Yeah, right on the porch."  
  
"Ahh! What's wrong with him? When did this punctual thing happen? I can't find my hair pins!"  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Let him in!"  
  
"Right!" The door swung open moments later, and Tristan was greeted by Lorelai, wearing a black miniskirt and purple blouse. "Hey there," she said by way of salutation.  
  
"Hi, Ms. Gilmo--"  
  
"Lorelai."  
  
"Hi, Lorelai."  
  
"Hello, Tristan. Well, come on in. Rory should be here in a sec."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"So, is this a big occasion?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess. They're all pretty much the same."  
  
"I hear you. You'll have to meet my parents sometime."  
  
"That should be exciting."  
  
"They'd love you." Lorelai smiled at him. "So, you've reversed your evil ways?"  
  
"Yes. My name is Tristan and I'm a recovering torturer."  
  
"Glad to hear you're finally admitting it."  
  
"The admittance was never the problem."  
  
"True. Rory!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Rory called back.  
  
"How long have you been going to Chilton?" Lorelai asked to fill the conversational void.  
  
"Since kindergarten. Twelve years."  
  
"Tristan, look." Lorelai didn't smile, although her face was kind. "Rory is a great girl."  
  
"This I know."  
  
"And I won't let anyone hurt her, ever. If you ever, in any way, voluntarily or not, hurt my baby, you'll be subject to re-enaction of Dante's Inferno."  
  
"Understood. But this is a friends thing."  
  
"Uh-huh," Lorelai countered sagely. "I know you like her. And don't worry, your secret is safe with me."  
  
"I don't--"  
  
"You do." Lorelai grinned, and Tristan bowed his head a little. "Hey, babe," she exclaimed when Rory entered the room. "I have such exquisite taste."  
  
Tristan was rendered speechless. Rory was...dazzling. She was wearing a deep red dress, one that hugged her curves without being tight, that ended just above her knees. The neckline was square, the straps leading back the chunky kind, the back dipping just low enough to show her shoulder blades.  
  
"I picked it out," Rory responded with loving patience. "But someday, I hope to equal your fashion prowess."  
  
"Off you go," Lorelai prompted. "Here's the phone, call me if you need me-- "  
  
"You won't be lonely?" Rory's face scrunched slightly with concern.  
  
"No, honey. I have a dinner party to go to! Oh, wait, it's not a party. Have fun. Back by twelve."  
  
"Bye, Mom." Rory leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek, and turned to Tristan, who managed a smile and a nod toward Lorelai, who was beaming.  
  
*  
  
Rory groaned when she heard the bell. Why did Tristan have to be on time today of all days? Her nylons were bunching, her hair was being stubborn, her makeup was unsatisfactory, and her dress wasn't zipping properly. Argh!  
  
As she frantically finished dressing, Rory heard Lorelai and Tristan talking, although she couldn't make out words, just the hum of their voices. She wondered what her mother was saying; then again, maybe she didn't want to know.  
  
When she emerged, she immediately saw Tristan's perfect tux, apparently his own. Wrenching herself from him, knowing she would be with him all evening, she said goodbye to Lorelai and guided Tristan to the door.  
  
When they were seated in the Porsche, Tristan finally said something. "Nice dress."  
  
"Nice tux."  
  
"Rental."  
  
Rory was dumbfounded. "Really?"  
  
"No, not really. But the look in your face was pretty entertaining."  
  
Rory sighed at how gullible she could be. Tristan turned to look at her again and chuckled. "You look scared," he observed.  
  
"You make it sound like a scene from 'Gladiator'."  
  
"Maybe just a PBS version. You know, no machetes."  
  
"Comforting."  
  
"No--"  
  
"Stop right there."  
  
Tristan averted his attention to the road, where the traffic had accumulated since he was last there. Rory took him in as he drove. His jaw clenched lightly as he maneuvered the car through the increasingly heavy traffic, and she noticed he tapped the shifter impatiently at times, frustrated with the incompetence of some of the other drivers. His cerulean blue eyes darkened with concentration as the cars started and stopped.  
  
"I wonder who taught these people how to drive."  
  
"Oh, it was probably someone at the IRS," Rory supplied.  
  
"The IRS?" Tristan turned to her and raised his eyebrows. Rory almost couldn't speak, the gaze from his eyes was so intense.  
  
"Yeah, the IRS."  
  
"Any reason?"  
  
"Oh, well, there is a way to blame everything on the IRS. I'm thinking of doing a research paper on it."  
  
"Original topic."  
  
"I know." Tristan returned her grin, then went back to the road. He muttered a few expletives at the faults of others, then winced and apologized. "Oh, don't worry. When we drive in New York, my mom sounds like the uncensored version of the Jerry Springer Show."  
  
*  
  
Tristan pulled up at his house, and held back a laugh when Rory saw it. Her mouth dropped slightly, and her eyes immediately became wide. After staring for a few seconds, she closed her mouth and twisted to face him.  
  
"You live here?" she asked in disbelief.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What was it, transplanted from the Royal Family's London estate?"  
  
"Well, we decided it would be a bit difficult by boat, so we had the architect make an exact rendition."  
  
"Is that a joke?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good. Good, glad to hear it." Rory returned to her studying of the house, which looked so normal to Tristan after living there for seventeen years.  
  
"I think it's time to face the music."  
  
"Uh-huh." Tristan climbed out on his side, then went around and opened Rory's door. "You didn't have to do that. I may not be able to speak arightly, but I can certainly open a door."  
  
"It's courtesy."  
  
"In what generation?" Tristan held out his hand, and Rory grasped it. Inwardly, he sighed, wondering if Dean got the same sensations when he touched her. Maybe it went away with experience. What would it be like to kiss her again? Rory's small hand clutched his comparatively larger one and he lead her in the front door, which was opened by his butler.  
  
"Ah, son," his father spoke when he came to the foyer.  
  
"Father. Father, this is Rory, Rory this is my father, Edward Dugray."  
  
"Hello," Rory chirped. Tristan felt a swelling of pride, knowing there was no way his parents couldn't like Rory, who was so sweet and timid.  
  
"Hello there, Rory. Flavor of the month?" he asked bitterly. Tristan's eyes flashed when he saw the hurt and surprise in Rory's eyes, although he was pleased to notice she suppressed it well.  
  
"My friend, Father, Rory."  
  
"Of course. The upstairs bedroom is open, a different one for a different girl. Lucky we have so many." With that, Edward walked away, leaving Tristan seething silently. Rory still had the same shocked expression, but it slowly evolved into anger.  
  
"Rory--"  
  
"Was that your plan?" Rory's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't believe I'm here. I should have known." One trailed down her cheek. "I am not Summer or any other of your cache of dolts."  
  
"Rory--"  
  
"So, you thought you'd trick me into coming, since it's just a 'friends thing'. Then you'd somehow persuade me into one of those bedrooms and--" Rory cut herself off abruptly and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Tristan helplessly said her name, but she shook her head. "I'm leaving." With that, Rory spun on her heel and ran out of the house.  
  
Damn his father! "Rory!" he called chasing after her, intending to tell her that it wasn't the plan at all, and that he really did want her to meet his parents, although he was beginning to think that had been a mistake. His parents weren't ready for someone like Rory, who wasn't like the others, who had grace and dignity. He frantically questioned the servants, but none could point in a definite direction. Finally, Tristan sat down on the porch steps.  
  
"Oh, I thought you'd gone into the room already. Sylvia is here."  
  
Tristan angrily faced his father. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"What?" His father adopted an innocent look.  
  
"Say those things in front of Rory!"  
  
"I thought she was like the others."  
  
"She's not! That's why I wanted tonight to be perfect! I love her!"  
  
"Son, calm down. And do straighten your tie; the crookedness is unbecoming."  
  
"Did you hear what I said?"  
  
His father appraised him once more, then nodded slightly and strode inside.  
  
*  
  
Rory sprinted as quickly as she could out of that house. Why had she been so foolish as to think that Tristan actually ad any genuine feelings for her? He was in relationships for one thing and one thing only. She sat on the curb about four blocks away and dialed her mother's number. No answer. Rory tried again. No answer. Leaving a message would do no good, so Rory decided to use her last option: her grandparents.  
  
"Grandpa?" she asked when Richard answered.  
  
"Rory?" he questioned, confused.  
  
"Can you pick me up?"  
  
"From...your house?"  
  
"No. I'm in Hartford."  
  
"Did something happen?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"I'm on...Rose and Cliff."  
  
"We'll be there."  
  
Rory sighed in relief and leaned back against the light post, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had she even considered Tristan as boyfriend material? They would never be right together. Maybe he had just acted like this for a few months to get her to go out with him. Maybe it was all still a game to him. Unfortunately, her heart was the ball now, and he had just tossed it away. Rory chided herself for being so naive. Why hadn't her mother taught her this?  
  
A few minutes later, her grandparents' car pulled up, and Emily came running out. "My dear, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Why aren't you at the party?" Emily assessed the street corner with distaste.  
  
"It got...cut short."  
  
"Well, what happened?" Emily swallowed her pride and sat down next to Rory.  
  
"It didn't work out."  
  
"What didn't work out? What happened? Why didn't you call your mother?"  
  
"I couldn't get an answer. It was just a big disaster."  
  
Emily pondered the situation and decided not to press any more, although she was dying to know what had happened. "Let's go." Emily wrapped Rory's shoulder in her arm and led her to the car.  
  
*  
  
Tristan was not released from his social obligations, broken heart or not. So, he interacted with these pathetically narrow people, making dry replies to a plethora of unamusing jokes. Finally, he jogged upstairs when the last of the guests had left, and dialed Rory's number, memorized long ago.  
  
The telephone rang and rang, and finally Lorelai came on the machine. "You missed us because we're busy, important people. Speak quickly or forever hold your peace."  
  
"Rory, it's Tristan. Call me. I'll call you. I don't care. I'm sorry." He hung up, not satisfied with his message. However, proclaiming his love over the answering machine didn't seem like an appealing option, so he stopped there.  
  
Tristan flopped dejectedly on his bed an turned on the Dave Matthews Band, his favorite. The slightly melancholy music was exactly what he needed. As he stared at his ceiling, he wondered what had made Rory run like that. His mission had not been to lure her into his house and jump her. Far from it.  
  
He just wanted to spend time with her. Tristan picked up the phone and left another message.  
  
When he woke the next morning, it was cloudy and rainy, appropriately so. He stumbled down the stairs and brewed some coffee, taking a cue from Rory. Coffee heals any wound.  
  
Tristan seated himself at the bar and sipped distractedly. The maid asked him if there was anything he could do, and Tristan chuckled darkly. "No." When she left, his father came in and sat next to him.  
  
"Son."  
  
"Don't bother." Tristan started to rise from the seat.  
  
"Tristan, sit down." Tristan was so shocked at his dad calling him by his name, he plopped in the chair. "I'm...sorry about last night. I didn't realize you had any actual feelings for this girl."  
  
"Well, I do." Tristan marveled at how difficult it must have been for his father to apologize to someone, especially his own offspring.  
  
"I apologize. She seemed very...sweet."  
  
"She is. And she didn't deserve to be called a slut. Because she's not."  
  
"I understand that now. I am so accustomed to your usual brand of girl, I was simply trying to accommodate you."  
  
"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do so in the future."  
  
"Of course." His father rose, then turned. "Good...luck," he added awkwardly.  
  
"Thanks," Tristan responded hesitantly.  
  
Edward nodded and left, leaving Tristan astonished. It was the most open conversation he'd had with his father, ever. And possibly one of the longest. If his father had enough confidence in him to wish him luck, he must really be getting somewhere.  
  
What was he going to tell Rory at school? She obviously wasn't going to answer the phone. Still, he decided to try again. No answer.  
  
*  
  
Rory left a message for her mother the second she was in the door. Her mother would be there any minute for the usual Friday night dinner, so it was pointless, but it occupied Rory.  
  
The bell rang at five after seven, and Emily left the living room to go get it, and Richard lowered his paper. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.  
  
"Not yet, Grandpa. But thanks."  
  
"Hi, Mom," Rory said when her mother entered, followed closely by Emily.  
  
"Hey, honey. What happened?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Well, Richard, I think it's time for us to go to the dining room. Rory, Lorelai, when you're ready?" Emily stood and let herself be escorted into the dining room with Richard, whispering, "Did she tell you anything?"  
  
"Why didn't you call me?" Lorelai cried.  
  
"You weren't there."  
  
"Oh. What happened?"  
  
"Well, we got there, and things were going okay, and then I met his dad."  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
"And he offered us the room upstairs."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Yeah. Apparently Tristan doesn't attend the same parties his parents do."  
  
"Aw, babe, I'm sorry. Was he trying to--you know?"  
  
"I don't know. I kind of blew up at him, and then I ran to this street corner, and Grandma and Grandpa picked me up."  
  
"Honey, I'm so sorry."  
  
"Yeah. It's not a big deal, just kind of insulting, you know?"  
  
Lorelai smiled sympathetically, knowing it was a very big deal. "I know."  
  
*  
  
Tristan rolled over and smacked his alarm. Monday already. Where had those promising twenty-four hours gone? Reluctantly, after hitting the snooze button as many times as possible, he dragged his tired body out of bed and into the bathroom where he ran the hot water for a shower.  
  
He stripped and stepped in, letting the water course over him, massaging his tight muscles. Why, why had his father done that? Rory had probably told Lorelai, which didn't help his chances of reconciliation. He knew there was only one option left: talk to Rory. It wasn't appealing, but if he wanted her, he had to let her know how he felt.  
  
He pulled on the boring uniform he had worn almost every day since kindergarten, first the socks, then the pants, followed by the shirt and tie, and finally the blazer and shoes. Tristan mussed up his hair until it looked properly messy, then picked up his bag and keys and left.  
  
The drive was as monotonous as dressing himself in the uniform. He knew every twist and turn, which hadn't changed from his first day, when he was so scared, he had put his shoes on the wrong feet without even noticing. Tristan smiled fondly at the memory, which in retrospect was cute. How far he had come.  
  
He paused to consider that statement. Had he really some so far? Or was he better off being the frightened little boy? The girls he dated were meaningless, shallow bimbos, the family life he had was nearly non- existent, and the people he called friends were all as conceited and obnoxious as he was--save for Rory.  
  
Tristan pulled smoothly into his parking space, a practiced move that he accomplished every day, a maneuver he had down to perfection. When he got out, he found Dean waiting for him. "Yeah?" Tristan demanded, not ready to hear about his triumphant make-up with Rory.  
  
"You dating Rory?" Dean asked, falling into step with Tristan.  
  
"No." That was all Tristan cared to say, wondering why Dean was even asking.  
  
"Doesn't seem that way to me."  
  
"Well, you obviously weren't there on Friday night." Tristan turned the appropriate corner, but Dean kept following him.  
  
"You have a thing for her."  
  
"What incredible deductive skills. You have now passed pre-school."  
  
"So why don't you just ask her?"  
  
"She won't go with me, okay? Get out of my way." Tristan shoved past Dean and to his locker, where he didn't even flirt with the throng of girls gathered outside. After about a minute of his ignoring them, they finally got the hint and dispersed.  
  
On his way to class--that he, of course, had with Rory--Paris blocked his way. "So, you love her, huh?" she spat.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"Rory. Your party. Friday night."  
  
"You were there?"  
  
"Yeah." Paris shot him a look.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"The whole congregation knows. You have a loud voice, haven't you noticed?"  
  
"Only when I'm yelling," Tristan muttered quietly.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I thought I had a loud voice."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"What is this about?"  
  
"You should give up. She'll never go anywhere with you. She doesn't love you." Paris grinned maliciously at the crestfallen expression Tristan had. "She doesn't love you," Paris repeated.  
  
*  
  
"Hey," Dean said when Rory walked up to her locker on Monday.  
  
"Hey," Rory said, yawning. She shoved the books she studied from in her locker, exchanging them for her first period class' textbook, notebook and folder.  
  
"You look tired."  
  
"I am. So, how're liking Chilton?"  
  
"Better. Takes some getting used to."  
  
"Yeah, I can vouch for that."  
  
"What's the deal with you and Tristan?"  
  
Rory felt her face contort in an upset motion. "Nothing!" she cried, slamming her locker, leaving Dean looking bewildered. She stomped down the hall and into her first period class, where Tristan was already sitting in his seat. Unusual, Rory thought. Generally, Tristan waited until the last second to enter the room. As she sat, she felt his eyes on her, but remained strong and didn't meet them.  
  
Ms. Atergaph began on the day's lecture, and Rory forced herself to pay rigid attention, writing down almost everything, even some of the meaningless babble, just to keep herself occupied. All though the fifty minutes, Tristan stared at her, and Rory knew it. She refused to turn around, hoping he would get the hint, praying he would just leave her alone.  
  
Rory exited the classroom as speedily as possible and almost knocked Paris over. "Sorry," Rory mumbled and tried to continue on her way.  
  
"You jerk," Paris spat.  
  
"Someone knows how to lay on the compliments."  
  
"I can't believe you," Paris started, then looked at her and kept going. "You lead him on for half a year, and then he says he loves you and you just ignore it. Like it's nothing."  
  
"He didn't say that. And even if he did, he isn't capable of loving someone."  
  
Rory brushed past Paris and resumed her quick march to class, where Tristan, of course, was. His desk was right in her path, but Rory bypassed it without so much as looking at him. What did Paris mean back there? Tristan would never say that--much less confide in Paris. No, Tristan was definitely not in love with her, because he had been trained not to feel that kind of strong emotion from day one. He wouldn't recognize love if it were as obvious as spots on a Dalmatian.  
  
For some reason, her classes moved more slowly than usual. She refused to admit it was because she couldn't make funny faces with Tristan at the hilarious comments the teachers made. It was just a boring day. Right? Right.  
  
At lunch, Rory decided to skip the food and just go to the library. She sat in her favorite blue chair, in a corner, completely blocked from most angles by bookshelves and plants. She pulled out Anna Karenina, her favorite book, and read it hungrily.  
  
"You said something to her?" That was Tristan's voice, and he sounded really angry. More upset than she had ever heard him.  
  
"I didn't know it was a secret," Paris whined defensively. Where have I heard that before, Rory thought wryly.  
  
"Why would you do that?"  
  
"You shouted it for the whole party to hear!"  
  
"She wasn't there! I was supposed to be the one to tell her, when it was right."  
  
"Like you've ever cared about right!"  
  
"What do you mean?" Tristan sounded even more mad as the discussion went on.  
  
"Like when you asked me out!"  
  
"I did that for Rory!"  
  
There was a deafening silence. "What?" Paris whispered dangerously.  
  
"I said, I did it for Rory. To appease her. She wanted to help you so much, I thought I might was well."  
  
*  
  
Tristan looked into Paris' hurt face, not really caring. Paris had always treated everyone like slime, especially Rory, who deserved none of it. And what he had said was the truth, which was supposed to be more valuable than lies, right?  
  
Paris continued to stare, then stalked out angrily. Oh well. But why had she done that? He meant what he had said: he wanted to tell Rory when things were perfect, when he wasn't rushed, when she was gazing at him in the way only she could. Most of all, he wanted it to be him who told her. What had she reacted like? Before he insulted her, he should have asked Paris.  
  
Tristan strutted out of the library, smiling at one of his freshmen admirers, who immediately grabbed her friend's arm and started giggling like mad. Tristan shook his head and kept going. That was why he had been attracted to Rory in the first place--she had never been one of those girls who were more concerned about glitter makeup than school. He smiled tenderly at the image of her, bent over her work, studying hard.  
  
Mentally, he shook himself. She hated him, according to Paris.  
  
His day went by in a blur of talking heads and the back of Rory. She wouldn't face him, didn't meet his eye. It was then that he knew: she was mad. Even in the beginning when she was exasperated with him, she spoke to him, and looked at him. But not now.  
  
Did she really think he felt she was just another random girl? She was sadly mistaken. It was Rory Gilmore--not just some Summer. Tristan gathered his things up, and went to his car--where Rory was waiting for him.  
  
"Rory," he began, jubilant to see her.  
  
"Did you say that you loved me?" she demanded harshly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did you say that you loved me?" Rory repeated.  
  
"At the party, yeah."  
  
"To Paris?"  
  
"No, to the gathering in general." What was she getting at?  
  
Rory shook her head. "You have no idea what love is."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I said, you don't know what love is. Love is not sex, and apparently, you're not able to make the distinction."  
  
"That's not true."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Rory turned to go, but Tristan grabbed her arm. "I love you."  
  
"Enough to get a room at your parents' house?" she asked scornfully.  
  
"No, enough to never look at anyone else and be totally devoted to you."  
  
"You couldn't do that. You know why? You haven't been taught what it is to love someone. You aren't capable of feeling something that strong. You wouldn't know love if it was standing right in front of you." Rory jerked her arm away and ran to the bus stop.  
  
*  
  
Rory leaned against the bus seat and tried to keep herself from sobbing. The tears were quivering in her eyes. Tristan really did love her--and pride kept her from telling him what she felt. The evening at his parents' had been unforgivable, she told herself. No one who acted like that could ever have a legitimate feeling. Not a lasting, honest one. Right? Right.  
  
She trudged home, her feet weighing her down with every step. When she pushed the door open, she found the house to be empty, no note from her mother even. Rory sighed and pulled some cold pizza from the fridge. Clearing a spot at the jumbled table, she sat and ate four pieces to comfort herself.  
  
The phone rang and Rory jumped for it. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey." Lane.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"What's up? Haven't heard from you in a while."  
  
"Yeah. Been hectic."  
  
"I bet. So, how are things with Dean at school?"  
  
"Okay. I don't really have to talk to him so much if I'm not assigned any projects with him."  
  
"That's good. Hey, have you seen Henry. Because..." Rory shifted the phone to rest between her neck and shoulder, knowing this could be a very long conversation. Or monologue.  
  
After an hour, Lane finally hung up when Lorelai came in. "Hey, babe," she said. "You will not believe what happened today. This guy came in and he was like, 'I heard about this place from an acquaintance, and it sounds cool.' So I'm like, 'Okay. Smart acquaintance.' And then he goes, 'He works here.' I go, 'Good publicity. Does he have a name?' And he goes, 'Yeah, Rune.' And I was all, 'Um, hey, have you met Rune? He is so not friend material.' And then he was like, 'Actually, I was his old boss, and I just wondered if he actually could hold a steady job.'" Lorelai paused to catch her breath, then caught the bored look on her daughter's face. "Sorry. So, what happened today?"  
  
"Tristan loves me."  
  
"Now there's an eventful day." Lorelai didn't seem too surprised.  
  
"After I left the party, I don't know it happened, but Paris said the whole group knew, and then she came up to me today and she was like, 'You're a jerk,' and it took me a while, but apparently, he actually said that."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"And then I confronted him by his car, and I really did something stupid."  
  
"Couldn't have been more stupid than the green disco outfit I once wore."  
  
"No, definitely worse."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I sort of...chewed him out, telling him stuff like he didn't know what love was, he couldn't feel anything like that, he didn't know the difference between love and sex..."  
  
Lorelai looked at her daughter sympathetically. "Aww, hon, it'll work out. Just wait."  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
"Luke's?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Rory followed her mother out the door, relieved to have a familiar face to look at, and a familiar voice to comfort her.  
  
*  
  
Two weeks later, Tristan was still in a funk. Rory really did hate him. She didn't look at him, except by accident, when she didn't realize he was around the corner, or something like that. When he got home that Friday, he was exhausted from a combination of a wounded heart--and ego--and a pile of homework.  
  
"Son," his father addressed him when he got home. "I have an invitation to a Christmas party tomorrow night."  
  
"Don't they usually send those out earlier?"  
  
"Well, I got it a week ago."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"And you are expected to come. 7:00."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Tristan had forgotten to ask whose it was, although it didn't really matter; it was the same people he had seen at the Thanksgiving gathering, and before that, Halloween, and before that, Labor Day, and before that...  
  
He removed his tux from the closet, then reconsidered, thinking of the connotations he had with that bit of clothing. Instead, he pulled out a black suit and red tie. How festive.  
  
He lay lengthwise across his gigantic bed, in no hurry to begin the massive amount of homework that awaited him. Rory had probably already started hers, knowing how stellar her work ethic was. Argh! Couldn't he stop thinking of her for five measly seconds? Just five?  
  
Frustrated, he vaulted off the bed to the desk and began feverishly working on History work, writing in firm, short strokes.  
  
At ten, he decided to go to bed, and get some rest. If he could. While he was changing, Tristan realized he had never even gotten out of his Chilton uniform upon coming home. A break in the daily routine was a little unusual for him, but he was too consumed with Rory to even care anymore.  
  
Why did his dad have to be the biggest jerk on the planet at the most inopportune times?  
  
On Saturday night, Tristan was ready to go by 6:30. For some reason, there had been some higher power motivating him to spend time on his appearance. Even his father noticed the change and came close to a compliment. Tristan and his family arrived at the party at five after seven, despite Tristan's early preparation.  
  
"Be po--"  
  
"Mother, I know."  
  
"Right."  
  
Edward rang the bell, and the three of them stood in a rather uncomfortable grouping on the porch. The door swung open, and there stood Rory.  
  
*  
  
Rory and Lorelai knew through experience that Emily would have a Christmas party, albeit a small one. Emily, of course, said that their presence was required. "Maybe Dad won't have a heart attack if I'm there," Lorelai theorized.  
  
"Could be the opposite," Rory warned jokingly.  
  
Rory and Lorelai bought the obligatory gift, something more elegant than Lorelai would have chosen, but since Rory did the shopping, they figured it would be all right. Rory a new red skirt with sweater set, and Lorelai dressed in a green mini. "Elegant," Rory said dryly.  
  
"Okay, George Eliot."  
  
"George Eliot?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Weird reference."  
  
"Hello, heels."  
  
"Right."  
  
Rory and Lorelai sat in the living room with the punctual guests, and when the bell rang at five after, Emily asked Rory to answer it. Rory set her glass of egg nog down and opened the door. And there stood Tristan and his parents.  
  
"H-hello," she stammered.  
  
"Rory," Mr.. Dugray said. "How lovely to see you again."  
  
"Same here," Rory said rather wryly. "Come on in," she said, widening the door's opening.  
  
Tristan stepped past her and into the tastefully decorated foyer. Rory took their coats and hung them neatly on the gold coat rack. She lead them into the living room, where the host, hostess and other guests sat murmuring polite niceties. "Ah, Mr.. and Mrs.. Dugray, Tristan. How wonderful to see you again," Emily cooed.  
  
"Always a pleasure, Emily," Mrs.. Dugray replied, shaking her hand; Mr.. Dugray did more or less the same thing. "You know my granddaughter Rory?"  
  
"Yes," Mr. Dugray said simply.  
  
"This is my daughter Lorelai," Emily continued, making her way around the room, acquainting people. Tristan took a seat next to Rory on the settee, since there was no other open spot. Rory didn't move.  
  
"We need to talk," she said.  
  
"Yes," he agreed.  
  
"After dinner."  
  
"Christmas tree." She nodded her appropriation, then sipped her egg nog delicately. What was she going to say? She couldn't very well just say that she made a huge mistake, that she loved him, and that she was a wreck without him. Could she? No. But was there any other way? If she needed him as much as the last couple weeks proved she did, then there were no other options. Rory almost began to shake at the idea of actually saying "I love you" to someone without legal assurance they'd have to say it back.  
  
All through dinner, she stifled her need to look at him, instead focusing on the food and the questions people asked her. Lorelai looked beyond bored, but did consume an amazing amount of apple tarts.  
  
Rory waited nervously by the tree for Tristan, who finally showed up after being held hostage by an older lady with tattooed eyeliner. "So?" he asked, rather abruptly.  
  
"Uh..." Rory stalled for time, rethinking her decision. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to do this. "I made a big mistake." She waited for Tristan to say something, but he didn't, just stared, so she went on. "That night at your parents' house, I overreacted a little." Tristan stayed in the same position, looking at her intently, making her nervous. "And I, um, didn't know what to do because I thought you loved me by then, but when your dad said that, I thought maybe you'd told him differently, and that it wasn't anything romantic, so on Monday I was a little disappointed, and then Paris went and told me that, and I was too proud to tell you how I felt..." Rory dropped her head. "I love you," she whispered.  
  
*  
  
Tristan listened closely to her babble, hardly believing his ears. Rory loved him. He couldn't speak for a while, and then it dawned on him that he was taking an extraordinary amount of time to say something. His mouth, however wouldn't work.  
  
Rory stood there, anxiously peering into his face, looking like a little girl. After about a minute, she nodded, saying, "Okay. That's okay. I understand." Moving her eyelashes rapidly, she spun around and walked out of the room.  
  
Oh no. He wouldn't let her go this time. Tristan waited a discreet amount of time before tracing her steps outside to the balcony. "Rory." She turned. "I still feel the same way."  
  
"Love the enthusiasm," Rory said, obviously hurt.  
  
"No, it wasn't lack of enthusiasm. I was just really surprised to hear you say that...to me." He walked up and stood next to her, leaning his forearms on the railing next to hers. "I'm sorry about what my dad said--he did that of his own free will." Rory was looking at him with a hopeful expression. Tristan leaned down so that he could whisper in her ear. "I love you," he murmured.  
  
Rory turned to him, and Tristan decided it was time. Placing one hand on her waist, he moved her body to face him. Rory's eyes sparkled, dancing in the pale moonlight. Taking this as encouragement, Tristan put his other hand on her cheek, stroking it tenderly. Rory moved closer to him, put her arms under his blazer and tightly around his waist. Tristan leaned slowly, giving her ample time to run. But she met him halfway, and Tristan almost regretted it wasn't the Fourth of July. There were fireworks, the kind he'd heard about in movies and read about in books, but never felt for himself.  
  
Tristan deepened the kiss a little, parting Rory's lips, judging how far she could go. When they parted, their breath melded together in the cool night air. "Why me?" Rory asked. "I'm not anything amazing."  
  
"You are to me."  
  
"Good answer."  
  
"I pride myself on expressing myself eloquently."  
  
"Maybe it'll be passed on to me."  
  
"You're perfect as you are."  
  
"Good answer."  
  
"You already said that."  
  
"Well, apparently you haven't passed it on yet."  
  
Tristan had to grin. It faded as he saw the loving, warm look in Rory's eyes. "I don't deserve you."  
  
"I think it's the other way around."  
  
"Or maybe we're just perfect." 


End file.
